


Who You Choose to Bleed For

by clarade



Category: NCIS
Genre: Eventual Tiva, F/M, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarade/pseuds/clarade
Summary: When an undercover pair of married Mossad officers are killed in an attack, no one is sure whether their small son—now stranded alone in America—is a target, too. For now, he'll need a place of safe haven—and Ziva David, his new temporary caretaker, may just be in over her head when she reluctantly agrees to help.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is the first installment of a tale that will take a number of chapters to tell... so settle in for a long ride! I expect to publish about one chapter per week; the first five chapters are already written and ready to go, so expect chapter two to go up one week from today on October 29th. I hope you all enjoy the story... it's close to my heart! It will be a Tony/Ziva story, though the first couple of chapters are heavy in set-up. This is set in season 9. — xoxo, C
> 
> _Edit—I'd like to acknowledge a lovely reviewer on ff.net, Acrwdof1, for pointing out a technical error that I made in this chapter... hopefully, I've fixed that mistake across the board! If so, this story is now a little more accurate than it was before. Thanks for the help, new friend!_

"Love has little to do with blood relations and more to do with who you choose to bleed for."

— Trista Mateer, _Aphrodite Made Me Do It_

* * *

"David, my office."

Ziva glances up from her computer screen to see Vance looking grave. He jerks his head toward the stairs, and, bemused, she nods. "Is something wrong?" she asks.

Vance makes a troubled face that tells Ziva the answer is yes. "You'll have to see for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

Ziva pushes back from her desk and rises to her feet, following the Director with no further questions. As she passes by Tony's desk, though, they exchange looks, and Tony makes a comment under his breath that she barely catches.

"Nice knowing you, I guess," he says.

Something about this _does_ give her a feeling of trouble brewing, and she hopes she's wrong.

* * *

Vance's office isn't empty when they enter it, so it's unlikely that Ziva has been summoned purely so she can be fired or rebuked. That's something of a relief, but the sight before her is troubling either way.

There's a young woman sitting at Vance's conference table, looking distraught; she has her elbows on the table and her face rests in her hands, hidden from view. There's no hiding the fact that she's shaking, though, probably either in tears or nearly to that point. She's dressed in a Navy officer's uniform.

" _Shalom_ , Ziva."

Ziva's gaze is pulled away from the young woman toward something she should have noticed sooner—her father's face is on the tv screen, clearly attached to some kind of video call. Like the woman at the table, the Mossad director looks worn down, beaten.

Something has most certainly happened, and from the looks of it, it's not something good.

" _Shalom_ , Father," she answers formally. Then she looks back at Vance, a question in her eyes, but he just shakes his head and gestures her toward the conference table. Dutifully, she purses her lips and sits where he indicated, a few chairs down from the unknown young woman.

Vance stands between the two women, eyes on the television screen. "You should probably be the one to explain to your daughter what's going on, Eli," he tells Ziva's father. "I'm not clear on all the details myself."

Eli's lips twist in a grim smile that's almost a grimace. "I do not yet have all the information, either… but yes, I will explain."

The Navy woman finally looks up then, and it's immediately clear to Ziva that she has been crying for quite some time; her face is red and damp, eyes swollen and still glistening with new unshed tears. Though something about her is familiar, Ziva can't place where they might have met, and the woman never looks at her. After a split second, Ziva disregards that slight mystery and turns her gaze back to the screen, too.

Eli waits until he has their attention before beginning. "Approximately two hours ago," he starts, "there was a bombing in Safed, suspected to be a Hamas strike. It was in a public market, so the target was not immediately clear, but there were more than two dozen casualties. I was informed an hour ago that two of the confirmed deaths were that of Noam and Liora Levy."

The woman in the uniform lets out a loud sob at that, but Ziva only has eyes for Eli. "Daughter and son-in-law of—"

"Zedekiah Cohen, yes."

Ziva now fully understands Eli's heavy countenance. Though as a Middle Eastern world leader, he's well used to dealing with terrorist attacks, this is not something he can so easily distance himself from… Zedekiah Cohen passed away last year, but before that, he was Eli's closest friend for more than sixty years.

As a consequence of that friendship, Ziva had often spent time with Liora during childhood; the Davids and the Cohens sometimes holidayed together in Haifa, back when Eli still occasionally took time off. Ziva hasn't seen Liora in more than a decade, but the unexpected loss still feels like a punch to the gut.

"I am sorry, _Abba_ ," Ziva murmurs after she processes this; no one else has said a word.

Eli nods, and he temporarily looks so defeated that Ziva unexpectedly feels for him—their shared losses are one of the few things they still have in common. "That is not all, however," Eli continues, and Ziva remembers that there has to be a reason for this meeting beyond simply informing her of what has happened.

"Oh?"

"At the time of their deaths, Noam and Liora were undercover for Mossad."

_That_ surprises Ziva, because last she'd heard, Liora was working in Tel Aviv as a doctor. "Doing what?" she questions, her tone guarded. She wonders if Eli is telling the full truth.

"I am afraid I cannot say."

Ziva knows better than to argue, and she nods, curt. "Please explain, then, what you need from me. I am sorry for the loss of two undoubtedly good Mossad officers, but as you know, I am no longer Mossad myself. I have a job to do at NCIS that I am neglecting right now to be here speaking with you."

"Liora and Noam have a son," the young woman next to Ziva interjects quietly. "He's here."

"Here as in—"

"He's been living with me," the woman explains. Her tears have stopped and she's looking a little blank, empty.

"In Washington?"

"Yes."

Ziva glances back at her father. "They knew they were in danger," she guesses.

"Yes," Eli agrees.

"What will happen to the boy now?"

"That is where I need your help, Ziva." Eli pauses briefly, but before Ziva can truly think through what he means by that, he soldiers on. "We do not yet know whether the Levys were the target of the attack, but we cannot assume that they were not. That means that if the boy was to return to Israel now, he might too become a target. He needs to stay in America for the duration of our investigation."

"I understand, but—"

"Eitan—Liora's son—was supposed to go home tonight," the young woman interrupts. "The mission was supposed to be over. _Why wasn't it over_?" The last part is snarled with sudden vitriol, directed at Eli.

"Lieutenant Shulman, please, have some patience," Vance cautions, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sure Director David was about to finish explaining—weren't you, Eli?" he adds pointedly.

"I was," Eli agrees, apparently taking no offense to the way he was just addressed. "Unfortunately, the Levys had not yet found the very important answers they were tasked with seeking out, and the mission was just extended. Regardless, that mission must take a backseat now in the wake of their deaths… and the immediate priority is finding a temporary safe space for Eitan."

Ziva's eyes flicker back to the grieving woman sitting nearby. "Why can he not stay with Lieutenant Shulman?"

"I'm due at Andrews Airforce Base at 0600 tomorrow to deploy," Lieutenant Shulman answers, back to sounding quietly numb.

Ziva's brow furrows; she's sure that she's missing _something_. "Director Vance," she tries, "would it be possible to grant her emergency leave, under the circumstances?"

Vance shakes his head, looking more troubled again. "She's needed on that deployment," he says shortly. The tone of his voice makes it clear that he can't or won't explain more at the moment.

"I need _you_ to take Eitan in for now, Ziva," Eli cuts in gravely before Ziva can ask another question.

A number of responses float through her mind… they range from alternate rational suggestions to indignant reminders to Eli that she doesn't answer to him anymore. In the end, though, all she says is two words: " _why me_?"

"He only speaks Hebrew," Lieutenant Shulman replies, though she isn't the one Ziva had been asking. "He needs to go to someone who can communicate with him _and_ someone who can be trusted."

"What about someone from the embassy?"

This time, it's Eli who answers. "If the Levys were targeted, we do not know who gave away their undercover identities and their location. Ziva, you _must_ understand the gravity of this situation! Not only is there a child in danger, but this may not have been a singular attack! We _cannot_ read anyone else in, not now, and it is _imperative_ that we solve this quickly and quietly. There are no other options."

This brief speech is given rapidly, angrily, reminding Ziva that grieving or not, Eli's only true allegiance still lies with Israel as a whole. He'll do whatever it takes to get the job done, and if that involves pressing Ziva back into service, then so be it. In deference to the strained nature of their relationship, he has framed this entire thing as a request—a favor, even. It's clear, though, that he expects her to say yes. He expects her not to question what she was asked to do, almost as if she's twenty-one again and she's eager for his approval.

Ziva can still say no. Logically, she's aware that Eli has no power over her.

She's afraid for the boy, though.

She remembers how it feels to be alone and friendless somewhere far from home, and she knows how it feels to lose the most important people in her life. Adding in the fact that Eitan doesn't speak English and the fact that his life could be in active danger, there's just no way she can in good conscience turn him away. It doesn't matter that she's never met him or that she knows very little about caring for a child of—actually, she doesn't even know how old he is! She just knows that she'll have to manage whatever comes next.

Ziva must deliberate for just a few seconds too long, because Eli speaks one more time before she can answer. "Eitan is the same age as Tali was the night of the bombing in Bat Yam." His voice is softer again, pained and tired.

Ziva remembers _that_ night all too well. She was young herself, just a few years older than Tali's four, when they found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. A suicide bomber blew himself up across the street from the synagogue where the Davids were attending a bat mitzvah that weekend, and the three of them—Ziva, Tali, and their mother—were very nearly caught up in the blast.

The sounds and smells are still fresh in Ziva's memory over two decades later—the sound of the bomb ripping through everything in its path; the eerily muffled screams that followed quickly after, only barely audible through the damage to Ziva's eardrums; the scent of her mother's perfume as Rivka cradled her daughters' heads against her chest, shielding them from seeing the horrifying chaos around them; worst, perhaps, was the unadulterated fear in Tali's voice as she cried, holding onto Rivka with one hand and Ziva with the other. Tali had been so very young at the time that she seemed to forget what had happened within a few weeks, but her terror in the middle of everything that night will stick with Ziva forever.

"I will take him," Ziva finds herself saying, swallowing back her old memories and the grief that has always bubbled up when Tali is mentioned.

"Good," Eli responds, and Ziva wonders if the pride and relief she can hear in his voice are genuine.

* * *

After that, the immediate details are quickly hammered out.

Ziva will depart NCIS at the end of the meeting, forgoing the rest of her workday in favor of going home to ready her apartment for a second inhabitant. Then, this evening, she'll go to Lieutenant Shulman's house in Arlington for a crash course in minding a 4-year-old boy, and when she leaves, Eitan and all of his things will be with her.

After that, the future is worryingly unclear. Eli can't tell Ziva how long Eitan will be with her, and he can't tell her what will happen when the investigation concludes. They're just going to have to take things one day at a time.

Vance grants Ziva a week of emergency leave to adjust to sudden foster parenthood, which she's sure will be useful. In that time, she'll have to make arrangements for Eitan's day-to-day care after she returns to work. She'll also have to learn the basics of childcare; it's going to be sink or swim.

Finally, Ziva is told fiercely that she is not to tell anyone in her life what's happening.

"What!?" she demands, indignant. This additional instruction is the first to break through the old familiar shell of stoic pragmatism that she has crawled back into. "Do you think no one will notice the fact that there is suddenly a _child_ living with me?"

"People may well notice," Eli concedes shortly, annoyed with her emotional reaction, "but you cannot tell them the truth."

Ziva lets out a frustrated laugh at the sheer lack of helpfulness in her father's reply. "And what do I tell them instead?"

"I trust that you will come up with something. The Americans will not question it! You are not the first person in history to unexpectedly become acting guardian to a child you did not previously know about."

Ziva snorts and drops the subject; she should know better than to expect Eli to help.

After that, there's only one matter left to resolve—Eitan himself.

Ziva hadn't realized when they were talking about him earlier, but apparently, the little boy is already in the building. A social worker is entertaining him in the conference room, and toward the end of the meeting, Vance steals away from the room to get him.

Ziva's attention is caught by the office door opening… she watches as Vance leads a small, nervous-looking boy into the room. The four-year-old has a thick mess of light brown hair and dark, soulful eyes; Ziva can see bits and pieces of her childhood friend in his little features, a thought that makes her heart ache.

Lieutenant Shulman rises from her chair immediately, moving to crouch on the floor by the table. "Eitan!" she calls, her tone falsely cheerful.

"Zo!" Eitan answers, brightening considerably when he spots her. He pulls away from Vance and rushes into Shulman's embrace. Then, ignoring everyone else in the room, he starts to explain to her in Hebrew about the painting he got to do with the social worker.

Shulman lets him chatter for a moment before gently interrupting. "Eitan," she says, giving him a little smile, "there is someone I want you to meet." Like the boy, she has switched to Hebrew, surprising Ziva with her fluency.

"Who is it?"

Shulman tilts her head toward Ziva, who gives a little smile and wave when Eitan looks at her. "This is Ziva. She is going to take care of you for a while, and you are going to stay with her like you have been staying with me."

"Why?"

"Because she is really, really nice! She will be a good friend for you."

"But why do I have to go to her house? I like _your_ house, Zo!"

Shulman brushes Eitan's messy hair out of his eyes and lightly rubs his cheek with her thumb. "Remember what I told you about my job?"

"Yeah. You go to cool places and fight bad guys!"

"Good job remembering! Well, it is almost time for me to go to one of those cool places."

"I want to go with you," he whines.

"I know, little one. But it would be really boring for you… I promise, you are going to like Ziva's house much better."

Eitan glances back at Ziva, who tries to look as friendly and unthreatening as she can. "But…"

"But nothing," Shulman contradicts, kind but firm. "This is important."

"Are you sure I _have_ to?"

"Yes, my love."

Eitan's little body deflates, and he curls into Shulman for a hug. "I want to go home. I miss _Ima_ and _Abba_."

No one knows quite what to say to that.

* * *

Ziva emerges from the office several minutes later, feeling slightly overwhelmed by everything she has just learned. The day is far from over, though, and there's a lot to do.

When she starts down the stairs into the bullpen, she catches Tony and McGee wondering what Vance called her into the office for.

"There's no way it's not Mossad-related," Tony is saying.

"Tony, she hasn't been part of Mossad for two years now," McGee points out.

"Yeah, but if it was something else, we all would have been called up there, right?"

"Me and Ziva weren't called in when Director Shepard told you to go undercover. This could be that same kind of thing."

"Mm, not Vance's style. It's Mossad-related."

"Undercover assignment."

"Mossad!"

"Undercover!"

"I have a twenty that says you're wrong."

"You're on."

The mundane familiarity of Tony and McGee's arguing pulls Ziva back to reality a little, and she interrupts them with a faint laugh. "You are both wrong," she informs them, "so I think that money goes to me."

Tony and McGee both turn to look at her, startled.

"Sorry, Ziva," McGee says sheepishly. "We were just…"

"I know."

Tony, as usual, is unembarrassed. "So if it's not Mossad and it's not undercover work, what is it?"

Ziva hesitates ever-so-slightly and decides to go with an explanation that's as close as possible to the truth. "There has been some… family trouble."

"Is everything okay?" McGee asks, concerned.

Ziva shakes her head. "Not exactly."

Before she can say more, though, a voice interrupts from the catwalk above. "Agent David! Didn't I send you home for the day?" Vance's tone is light, sympathetic-sounding… but Ziva knows what he's doing. He's reminding her not to tell her team too much.

The refresher is unnecessary, but she nods, knowing he will take that as acknowledgment of what he didn't say. "I will be leaving shortly, Director," she calls back.

The three agents stare up at Vance as he gives them one last look before walking away, and then Tony wastes no time in returning to the Q&A. "What happened, Ziva?"

"My father was there on a video call." Ziva watches Tony and McGee's expressions sour at the mention of Eli, and she feels a surge of fondness toward the both of them for their protectiveness. "He called to tell me that my cousin passed away unexpectedly last night in a car accident."

This announcement is met with condolences from her friends, but Ziva holds up her hand to silence them. "I appreciate the sympathy, but that was not all Eli had to say. The cousin that died was… well, she and I were not close, and I had not talked to her in several years. Apparently, she had moved to this area with her husband and her son... and the accident last night ended the life of her husband, too. Now her child needs somewhere to go until other arrangements can be made. I have been asked to take him in."

For several long moments, there's silence—Tony and McGee gape at Ziva and at each other. "Well, are you going to?" McGee finally questions.

"Yes. I am his only family here. He needs me."

"Sounds like it won't be for long, though, right?" Tony guesses.

Ziva shrugs. "I do not know yet."

"Do you even have a place for him to sleep?"

"That is why I have been given the rest of the day off. I need to childproof my apartment."

"That sounds like an awful lot to do in one day. Do you need help?" McGee kindly offers.

"No, but thank you, McGee. Really." Ziva gives him a tired smile, grateful.

Tony glances between the other two, uncertain. "I'd offer to help with whatever else you might need, but… you know I'm not great with kids."

That makes Ziva laugh, and she rolls her eyes because she knows she would under other circumstances and some normalcy is much needed right now. "Your selfless support is truly inspiring, Tony."

She turns her back on them to gather her things from her desk. "I am taking a week of leave," she explains as she packs up the few items not already in her bag. "I will be back after that."

"We'll miss you, Ziva."

"I will miss you, too, McGee."

Ziva straightens and looks back to give them one more smile. "See you soon," she tells them, slinging the bag onto her back.

Then she heads for the elevator, her mind already moving on to plan out everything she needs to do before picking up Eitan this evening. Her thoughts are interrupting, though, by Tony jumping onto the elevator at the last moment before the doors close.

"Miss me already?" Ziva asks wryly.

Tony shakes his head to dismiss her weak joke, looking unusually serious. "This has been an eventful morning for you. Are you okay?"

"I am fine," she assures him.

"Are you really?" He gives her a disbelieving look. "Don't shut me out, Ziva."

Her automatic impulse is to do just that—she will get through this on her own, just as she always does. Something makes her hesitate, though… maybe it's because she knows she can trust Tony, or maybe it's just because he's right about the difficulty of the day so far. "No, I am not fine," she answers finally. "But I will be."

"I know you will, 'cause you're tough as nails. But…" The elevator reaches the ground floor, and rather than stay in the car to return to the bullpen, Tony follows Ziva out. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ziva starts in the direction of the parking lot, looking anywhere but at her friend. "What could talking possibly help?"

"Probably nothing, but it's always good to get things out."

"Of course _you_ think that," she quips back. "You like to talk about _everything_."

Tony is undeterred by this attempt at a subject change. "Maybe I talk too much, but you don't talk enough. Come on—you don't have to handle _everything_ alone."

Ziva stops walking so suddenly that Tony almost runs into her, and she turns around to frown at him. "Yes, I do," she argues, quiet at first but quickly gaining in momentum. "Once again, the burden has fallen on me. This happens every time I begin to feel settled, Tony!"

Tony starts to reply, but Ziva cuts him off.

"You want me to talk about how I feel? _Fine_. I am sad. I am tired. I am shocked, I am worried, and I am afraid. I do not know how to take care of a 4-year-old, but one is depending on me anyway. I know what is expected of me but I do not know if I can do it! Are you happy now?"

Ziva can see in Tony's expression that she surprised him by answering at all, and his determined look softens into something more compassionate. "I'm sorry. I am. That's a lot to put on one person."

"Yes, it is, and saying it out loud has done nothing more than waste time."

"You make it sound like you're just talking to yourself."

"Does it matter who I am talking to?"

"Yes, because when you're talking to a friend, they usually talk back. That's the whole point." Tony gives her a look, revealing another wave of sympathy that is tinged this time with a hint of frustration. "I can't fix anything that's happened, I know that, but I can at least try to reassure you, right?"

"I suppose I cannot stop you."

"Good. Now, I know you have a lot to do, but you listen to me for a second, David."

Ziva crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, impatient.

Her annoyance makes Tony bark out a laugh, and he nods in response to the implied challenge in her posture: 'you have about ten seconds to talk before I start to walk away.' "Alright, here we go… this is not forever. Somewhere out there, there's a permanent home for this kid, okay?—so take it an hour at a time. Get through today, and _then_ worry about tomorrow, one hour at a time. You're smart, too—you may not know much about kids for now, but I'm sure you'll learn quick."

Ziva understands the logic in what her partner is saying, and though she just doesn't have it in her right now to respond the way a friend should, she _does_ appreciate it. "I hope you are right," is all she says back.

Tony doesn't seem offended. "You're gonna do great," he finishes firmly.

Ziva nods and slides her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time. "I need to go."

"Alright." Tony pauses slightly, though, before opening his arms in invitation.

Ziva is a little surprised by the offer, but she's also surprised when she decides to accept without letting herself question any of it. She steps forward and wraps her arms around Tony's waist, releasing a deep sigh when his arms settle around her shoulders. "You're gonna do great," Tony repeats quietly into her hair. "And I'm sorry about your cousin."

"Thank you, Tony." Ziva is slightly horrified to feel her eyes prickling with tears.

They stand there for a few seconds without speaking, and finally, Ziva breaks the hug. She knows Tony can see the overwhelmed tears that are starting to leak slowly down her cheeks, but he doesn't comment. "Good luck," he offers instead.

Ziva nods uncomfortably. "I will see you next week."

"Right. See you when you come back."

Tony doesn't move as Ziva turns to walk away, and she's fifteen paces away when he calls her name one last time. She looks back. "I'd be a crappy babysitter, but if you need someone to… I don't know, shoot some hoops with the kid when you need a few minutes to yourself to shower or something, you know where to find me."

The offer is clearly sincere, and—knowing how much courage it must have taken Tony to volunteer for something like this at all—it makes her feel just a little bolstered. Eitan may be her responsibility now, but at least her friends have her back.

"Thank you." She hopes her inability to say more doesn't make her sound insincere.

"Sure thing. Hey, what's his name?"

"Eitan."

"Sounds Hebrew, alright. Well, tell Eitan that Uncle Tony's up for a ballgame whenever he wants some guy time."

"I will."

"Good. Okay, well, call me if you need me."

Ziva nods one last time and waves. "Bye, Tony."

"Bye, Ziva."

She feels his eyes on her back as she climbs into her car and pulls out, her mind already filling again with thoughts of her to-do list.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! As promised, now that it's October 29th, here is chapter two; you can expect chapter three on November 5th. (I plan to post every Thursday!) Now, a note on this chapter in particular: though this story is by and large a Tiva story with a kid woven in, there's still a case-like plot coming regarding Eitan's family... so I hope you'll bear with me through a little more set-up in this installment! Soon, the chapters and the story will be a little more Tony-heavy than they've been so far. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading and extra thanks to those that review! Happy Halloween! — xoxo, C

Ziva spends the rest of the day working as quickly as she can to transform her small, simple apartment into a child-friendly space. It's the first time she has ever needed to do something like this, though, so it takes some research.

She spends the first half hour after getting home just reading the results of a Google search. According to the suggested websites, even the absolute _minimum_ restrictions that need to be put in place for a child of Eitan's age are extensive. Ziva starts making a list.

She'll need to lock away all of her weapons, preferably out of reach of small hands—that alone will take some time, as Ziva has guns and knives stashed in every room. Similarly, any potentially dangerous chemicals, cleaning supplies, and medicines need to be protected, and even those that are unlikely to pose a direct threat must be stored behind child-proof locks. The locks on her windows will have to be moved higher up.

If that's not enough, the settings on the hot water heater will need adjusting, the batteries on the smoke detector need to be checked and possibly replaced, and any breakables in the apartment, particularly those that might produce sharp shards, need to be stored away from where a child could find them. Any furniture that could be pulled or tipped over must be secured into place.

And those are just the safety things!

Ziva also has to clear out the small second bedroom that she uses as an office. Lieutenant Shulman has offered the use of the furniture that she has been using for Eitan, but logistically, they just don't have the time or manpower that it would take to disassemble, transport, and reassemble an entire bedroom set. Ziva opts instead to seek out the nearest furniture store that offers same day delivery and assembly and she purchases the basics there.

The hours pass far too quickly, and before she knows it, it's time for Ziva to start the trip to Arlington. She hasn't finished everything—that will probably take a few days—but she has managed to complete enough to get through the first night.

The drive to Lieutenant Shulman's house isn't a long one—no more than twenty minutes without traffic—so Ziva doesn't have time to ponder her worries too much on her way there. It's a good thing, too, because there's no turning back now.

She pulls up to the little blue house and parks, relying on every bit of her considerable capacity for bravery to go knock on the door.

Looking more composed now than she did earlier, Lieutenant Shulman answers the door a few seconds later. "Hi, Ziva," she greets the agent, subdued not unkind.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Shulman."

"Please, come in."

Ziva gives a nod of thanks and passes into the house. "How is he doing?" she asks. The boy himself is nowhere in sight at the moment, but several little suitcases sit packed and waiting near the door.

Something in Lieutenant Shulman's expression turns guarded, wary. "He's… alright, I guess," she replies.

Ziva doesn't push it. "Does he know that I am picking him up tonight?"

"Yeah. He's in his room—I'm sorry, he's in the room that _used_ to be his—right now. He said he wanted to be alone."

Ziva makes a sympathetic face. "He has experienced an incredible amount of loss in one day, especially for someone so young."

Lieutenant Shulman's expression becomes even more closed off at that, and before Ziva can ask her what is wrong, she sighs and looks away. "You're going to think I'm awful."

"What makes you say that?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"You have not—"

"About Liora and Noam."

Ziva pauses, momentarily too surprised to answer. Surely Lieutenant Shulman doesn't expect _her_ to be the one to break the news! "Why not?" she finally manages to ask, and only many years of learning to school her emotions allows her to keep a neutral tone.

"You have to understand, I—" Lieutenant Shulman stops to swallow hard a few times, and when she speaks again, she looks more like the heartbroken woman that sat in Vance's office this morning. "I don't have kids. I never even _imagined_ that I'd have kids! My husband and I don't want any and we didn't plan on suddenly having one. But Liora was my best friend, and when she said she was afraid for Eitan's life, what was I supposed to say?"

The lieutenant speaks so quickly, barely pausing for breath, that she starts to trip over her words. "He's my godson, and he needed me. I've done my best, I really have, and I swear I'd do anything for him! But I don't know how to do this—I _can't_ do this! I can't tell him that his parents are dead without breaking down myself, and that's not what he needs! He needs to be someone's priority, he needs—"

Ziva acts on instinct when she pulls the other woman into a hug.

Captain Shulman stops talking abruptly, and she stands trembling in Ziva's embrace. "I can't do this," she says again, soft and mournful.

"It is alright," Ziva affirms soothingly. "You do not have to... _I_ will, so take a deep breath, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Ziva finds that she means what she's saying—she understands why Captain Shulman feels unable to do what Eitan needs, and contrary to what she first assumed, she knows that the decision isn't really a selfish one. Besides, Ziva has been on the receiving end of that kind of devastating news more than once, and she thinks— _hopes_ —that her experience will help her choose the right words to tell Eitan.

She pauses for a second before adding something more: "Eitan is not the only one who has lost much today. You have, as well."

"I can't argue with that, I guess." Captain Shulman slowly pulls out of the hug, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, truly."

Ziva nods and hopes that's answer enough.

It seems to be. "You always were the strong one, so I probably shouldn't be surprised that you still are," Captain Shulman murmurs with a small laugh.

"What do you mean?" Ziva asks in confusion.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

The question suddenly jogs something in Ziva's memory, and several little details start to make sense… She had thought this morning that Captain Shulman looked familiar, though the thought was lost in the wake of everything that followed it. It had also seemed strange that the other woman had called her Ziva from the start, never the more formal—and more customary—Special Agent David. Even the captain's casual use of both English and Hebrew had seemed unusual, but now it helps Ziva recognize something that she should have been able to discern at once.

They've met before, _several_ times.

" _Zohara_?" The realization is spoken in a tone of stunned disbelief. "Zohara Avraham?"

That brings a brief, pleased smile to the other woman's face. "You _do_ remember me!"

Memories come flooding back, and Ziva nods. "Of course I do. I am only sorry that it took so long for me to figure that out."

Zohara had been a shy little girl who sometimes joined Liora's family on holidays—the same holidays that the Cohens took with the Davids. If Ziva remembers right—and now she's sure that she _is_ remembering right—Zohara was born in Tel Aviv to an Israeli father and an American mother, and she moved to the United States when the girls were around ten years old. Before today, Ziva had not seen her since that last summer some twenty years prior.

"Don't worry about it," Zohara assures Ziva. "It's been a _long_ time."

"Yes, it has been. Well, it is nice to see you again—I only wish it was under different circumstances."

"It's good to see you, too."

Whatever Ziva wants to reply dies in her throat when she sees Eitan's head poke warily around the corner of the hall at the end of the room, and she sobers, immediately brought back to the matter at hand. "We have company," she tells Zohara, tilting her head toward the hall.

Zohara turns around. "Hi there, little one," she greets Eitan, speaking in Hebrew again.

Emboldened, Eitan scurries into the room and attaches himself to Zohara's leg. "Is it time for me to leave, Zo?"

"Almost, but not quite. Before we do anything else, though, can you say hello to Ziva?"

"Do I have to?"

Zohara strokes the top of his small head fondly and smiles at him. "I think you should make friends with her before you go, what do you think?"

"I guess."

"Go on and be polite, then, mm?"

Eitan shyly peeks around Zohara's leg. "Hi," he whispers.

Ziva gives the small boy an encouraging smile. "Hello, Eitan," she returns warmly.

"I am proud of you, brave boy!" Zohara praises. "Now, you came in at a good time—I was just about to tell Ziva all of the fun things she should know about you. Maybe you can tell her yourself, though, since you are already here."

"What should I say?"

"Well, what do you want her to know?"

"Um…" Eitan steals another timid glance at Ziva, considering. "Should I tell her my favorite color?"

"That is an excellent idea. I think you should."

"I, um, I like green," Eitan offers, this directed at Ziva.

"What a coincidence! I like green, too!" she shares back.

"You do?" He looks at Zohara again, smiling now. "She says green is her favorite, too!"

Zohara laughs softly—Ziva is impressed with the other woman's ability to keep up a cheerful front around the boy after such a painful day. "I heard her!"

"Should I tell her about my favorite dinosaur?"

* * *

They let Eitan share whatever he wants as they start a slow walk around the house, discussing things Ziva needs to know that are relevant to his care. They speak to Eitan in Hebrew, but they switch to English when speaking to one another, not wanting Eitan to understand how extensively they're discussing him. He thinks this is all a temporary change, and for all they know, it might be—there's no need to frighten him by making it into a bigger deal than it has to be.

Ziva has a notepad with her, and she takes careful notes on what she's told—Eitan's daily routine, his bedtime, his medical history (he's allergic to peanuts—this part is underlined thrice on Ziva's list), where he is in his education, how to calm him down when he's upset… the list goes on and on.

As they go, Eitan gets progressively quieter, and by the time they finish, his dark little eyes are barely open. They're already forty-five minutes past his bedtime.

"Well, can you think of anything else?" Zohara asks when they've discussed everything she had planned to talk about, and addressed every question posed by Ziva.

"I cannot think of anything on top of my head."

That makes Zohara smile faintly. "I think you mean 'off the top of your head.'"

"Yes, that."

"If we've forgotten anything, you should be able to figure out the small stuff on your own, and if there's anything big…" Zohara pauses and sighs. "Your director may be able to reach me while I'm deployed, but I can't guarantee that."

"I am sure we will manage. Do not worry about us, Zohara."

"If there's anyone who can take on a challenge like this and flawlessly adapt to it, Ziva, I think it would be you."

Ziva smiles. "Thank you. I hope I can live up to that praise." She hesitates briefly before gesturing to the suitcases by the door. "I will start loading my car and give you and Eitan a chance to say goodbye without an audience, yes?"

"Sure, thank you."

Ziva heads to the door and grabs the handle of a different bag in each hand, but something makes her stop and look back at the other two before going through the door. Zohara is kneeling now, putting herself on eye level with the four year old, and she's holding his small hands in hers.

Ziva tears her eyes away; it's not a scene meant for her eyes.

As she carries the cases outside, though, she thinks about how loved Eitan clearly is. His parents loved him enough to send him halfway around the world for his own safety, a decision that ultimately led on some level to their deaths. Zohara loved him enough to take him in though she clearly felt unprepared to do so, and she loves him enough now to hand him over to someone who will be able to do what Zohara can't and stay in Washington with him.

Even Eli, a man who doesn't love easily, clearly regards the boy as someone important. If the child in question was anyone other than the grandchild of his late best friend, Ziva highly doubts that he would have taken such a personal interest in finding somewhere safe for Eitan to ride out this storm.

Ziva knows that all of those people are counting on her to take care of Eitan just as they would. That's a daunting task, but it's not one she can back away from now.

By the time Ziva finishes loading the car, Zohara is leading Eitan out by the hand; they both have red faces wet with fresh tears, something Ziva pretends not to notice.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks Eitan, pumping as much enthusiasm into her voice as she can.

He nods, but he's still clutching Zohara's hand tightly. The other woman sighs softly and pries her hand away in order to lift the child up with both hands. She settles him on her hip and looks at him seriously. "You will remember what I told you, right?"

"Yeah, Zo."

"Good boy." Zohara gives him a long kiss on the forehead. "I love you, little lion."

"I love you, too, but—but—please do not send me away!"

Eitan's little face starts to crumple into tears again, and Zohara, white-faced, goes to strap him into the carseat Ziva had installed this afternoon. She murmurs one more thing Ziva can't hear, shuts the door, and turns back to Ziva.

"Thank you. For everything."

They can both hear Eitan beginning to sob in earnest in the car.

"You do not have to thank me." Ziva pulls Zohara into a quick hug. "I will protect him as if he was my own. You just focus on keeping yourself safe during your deployment."

They embrace for a long moment, but now is not a time to linger, and they break apart after a few beats. "Bye, Ziva. And good luck."

"To you, as well."

Zohara glances at the car once more and then robotically rotates to face the house, walking away immediately after as if she's afraid she'll lose her nerve to do so.

Ziva's not sure she's ever seen someone look so very tired, and as she moves to get in the car herself, she's sure she catches the sound of a sob coming from the house.

* * *

On the way back into Washington, Ziva attempts to figure out a way to comfort Eitan in this difficult moment, and she finds herself at a loss.

First, she tries offering the same platitudes she might offer to an adult: every will be okay, there's nothing to worry about, you will feel better soon. Eitan completely ignores her, continuing to wail at full volume. After a few minutes, Ziva switches tactics.

She tries to distract him, asking him about the cartoons that he likes to watch, but this, too, is soundly ignored.

Finally, Ziva has to accept that the little boy just needs to cry for a while, and from then on, she leaves him to it. All of this has to be traumatic for him—even if he doesn't know the worst part of it yet—and he's well within his rights to be a little weepy about it.

By the time they reach Ziva's neighborhood, though, Eitan's sobs have died away, and a quick glance back at him in the rearview confirms what she has already guessed: he has cried himself to sleep. The thought makes her heart ache… no one should experience so much pain at such a young age.

She parks on her street and gets herself out without waking the little one, and then she pauses, not sure what to do. Waking him up feels like a bad idea, and while he's certain to be a heavy dead weight, Ziva is fairly confident that she can carry him up. She can't hold him _and_ his suitcases, though, and in the end, she makes the executive decision to take him to bed and come back to get his things in the morning. He's already dressed in pajamas anyway, and what else can he possibly need while he's sleeping?

Luckily, Eitan appears to be a heavy sleeper, and she maneuvers him out of his seat and into her arms with little difficulty. Juggling her keys and opening doors proves to be something of a greater challenge, but someone that she vaguely recognizes as living on the floor above her sees her struggling and helps.

Ziva enters her apartment and lays the kid out on the sofa, careful not to disturb him, and goes to do one of the things she didn't have time for earlier—putting sheets and blankets on the bed that was purchased and set up only a few hours ago.

When she comes back to move Eitan, though, she accidentally wakes him up. He opens his eyes blearily, frowning up at Ziva. "Zo?"

"Not Zo, Ziva," she corrects him kindly. "Do you remember me?"

Eitan makes some kind of noise of assent and smacks his lips sleepily.

"Come now, little one." Ziva scoops him up, smiling slightly when he settles his head on her shoulder, and carries him to his new room. Then she lays him down. "Sweet dreams, Eitan. I will see you in the morning."

"Where are you going?" he protests grumpily when Ziva tries to untangle his small fingers from where they're bunched in her shirt.

"I am only going to the next room," she promises. "I do not want to keep you awake."

"But… can you sing me a song first?"

"A lullaby?"

Eitan nods.

"I would be happy to. Put your head back and get comfortable, yes?" While Eitan does as she asks, Ziva steals away to flick the overhead light off, leaving only a nightlight still glowing. "Now, which lullaby do you want to hear?"

"Mm… a nice one."

Ziva laughs quietly and nods. "I may be able to do that. Close your eyes and I will begin."

Eitan's eyes, only barely open to begin with, slide shut, and Ziva tucks the blanket in around his small shoulders. Then she starts to sing a quiet, soothing song, the first one to pop into her head—she thinks it might be one her mother used to sing to her when Ziva was very small, though her memories are too fuzzy to say for sure.

Eitan relaxes back into sleep before the song is halfway over, but Ziva finishes singing anyway, watching him rest. When the song ends, she stays for another few moments, moved by a tenderness that surprises her. "Sleep well," she murmurs, so quiet that she can barely hear herself; the sound of her words doesn't rouse Eitan at all. "Tomorrow will be a hard day, but for now, you can dream happy things."

Then she rises silently to her feet and leaves him to it, tired for herself and hurting for a little boy who doesn't have any idea what's coming for him.

* * *

It's not yet 10pm by the time Ziva emerges into the apartment's common area, but the difficulty of the last twelve hours makes it feel much later than it actually is. She knows that she should go to bed—it's not only Eitan who's going to have things to grapple with tomorrow—but she needs a few minutes to unwind first or she'll never get to sleep.

After some deliberation, she pours a small glass of wine and settles on the sofa to drink it. She turns on the television and a low volume and flips through the channels, trying to find something she can focus on, but her mind is buzzing too much to pay attention. Less than five minutes after turning it on, she switches the device off again.

She realizes suddenly that she doesn't want mindless entertainment… no, what she wants is to talk to another adult.

She grabs her cell phone and dials Tony's number without stopping to let herself wonder why he's her first choice for something like this.

It takes a few rings, but then Tony picks up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tony."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes—relative to how it could be, at least. Why?"

Tony laughs. "Because you've never just called to chat before."

"There is a first time for everything."

"Don't I know it."

"Is this a bad time?"

Ziva can hear Tony shaking his head, and it makes her roll her eyes and smile. "I'm just watching the game."

"Which game?"

"Ohio State versus Rutgers."

Ziva pauses. "Which _sport_ , though?"

Tony laughs again at that, this time more loudly than before now that he knows she's okay. "Basketball. It's basketball season."

"'Basketball' is not a season."

"No, it's…" The sound of something moving across the receiver tells Ziva that Tony is shaking his head at her again. "Not _that_ kind of season. This is the time of year that basketball tournaments happen, that's all. Football season is in the fall, basketball season comes later."

"Oh."

"You're an American citizen now, right? You should know these things."

"Why do I need to, when I have you to tell me about them every chance you get?"

Tony snorts. "Glad you see me as good for something, I guess."

"Your sports knowledge is not the _only_ good thing about you, Tony."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. You probably have at least two other good qualities as well."

There's a grin in Tony's voice. "Only two?"

"Three in total is more than some people have. Do not be greedy."

"Fair enough. So what are they?"

Ziva pauses to think. "You are a decent shot," she decides.

"I'm better than _decent_ , but okay."

"Well, you are not as good as I am."

"Not sure that's true."

"It is."

"How do you know?"

"Our marksmanship scores do not lie."

"Who gave you access to _my_ records? Those are supposed to be confidential!"

"McGee can find anything, if given the proper incentive."

"I'm going to kill him. What did you offer to make him dig that up?"

"That is between him and I."

"I'll find out."

"No, you will not."

"Yes, I will."

"Regardless, I consistently score higher than you do. That objectively tells us that I am the better shot."

"Hmph. Agree to disagree. What else?"

"What else _what_?"

"What's my other good quality?"

"Oh. Hmm." Another pause, and then Ziva grins. "You sleep naked."

" _What_!?"

"You heard me."

"How do you know how I sleep?"

"I see that you do not deny it."

"Why should I? There's nothing wrong with it. It's healthy to let your skin breathe every now and then, Ziva."

Tony sounds aggravated, and it makes Ziva laugh. "I did not _say_ that there is anything wrong with it. I said it was one of your good qualities, remember?"

"Oh, yeah… You _did_ say that." A brief pause, and then: " _Why_ did you say that?"

"Are you asking why I see it as a good thing?"

"Yep."

"Because it is entertaining."

"I ask you again, Ziva: _how do you know_? You've never seen me sleep naked, not once. Unless you put cameras in my apartment."

"I have never even _been_ inside your apartment."

"Not with me, you haven't. But you're sneaky."

"Do not flatter yourself, Tony. I have no interest in breaking into whatever cluttered den you call home."

"I'll have you know that my apartment is both clean and tastefully decorated."

"Then why do you never invite any of us to visit?"

"I spend at least forty hours a week with you, isn't that enough?"

"...that is a good point."

"Glad we agree. Now back to the point—don't think I've forgotten. How do you know I sleep naked, and how is it entertaining for you if you're not there to see it?"

"I have heard stories."

"What stories?"

"Well, one story in particular—Cuba, warm weather, and an iguana. Does that make any phones ring?"

"What—? Oh. You mean 'does that ring any bells?'"

"Yes, that."

"As a matter of fact, it does. But where the hell did _you_ hear that story? That was well before your time."

"McGee told me."

"Nice try, but no dice. He wasn't there, either."

"Kate told _him_."

"Of _course_ she did." This is accompanied by a short but forceful sigh.

"Kate told McGee, McGee told me, I told Abby."

"You _what_!? That explains some things."

"Things like what?"

"Like why she gave me a stuffed iguana for Christmas last year. I thought she was just being, you know, _Abby_."

"Do you sleep with it?"

"Ha! It's not that kind of stuffed animal. It's stuffed as in, like, taxidermied."

"Oh. I guess you do _not_ sleep with it, then."

"Oh, you think?" The question is sardonic.

"I do."

"Well, if _that_ humiliating story has already made the rounds, I guess I really have nothing to hide. It's all out there already."

"I am glad that I was told. I think about it often."

"I think it counts as sexual harassment to tell someone you like to think about them being naked in bed."

"I am sure you have done worse."

"Do you really want to stoop to my level?"

"Actually, no. I really do not."

"That's what I thought."

"I will still think about you and iguanas whenever I need a feel-me-up, however."

" _Pick-me-up_. God, Ziva, do you even _try_?"

Ziva chuckles, and Tony does, too. "Okay," he starts again after a moment. "What's up? I know you didn't call me to talk about lizards and shooting and sexual harassment."

Ziva sighs; their bickering is so easy to fall back into that she was momentarily distracted from how stressful the day has been. "I just wanted to talk to someone," she admits. "It has been a long afternoon and an even longer evening."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"There is not much to tell. I spent most of the day in my apartment."

"Did you get everything done that you needed to?"

"Most of it."

"I knew you could do it."

"I thought about what you said to me when I was leaving this morning."

"Yeah?"

"Yes… one hour at a time."

"Did that help?"

"Surprisingly, I think it did."

"Glad to hear it. So is Eitan there now?" The way Tony carefully feels out the foreign-to-his-ears name makes Ziva smile.

"Yes. He is asleep."

"Do you know what that means?"

"No, what?"

"It means you have the first day over with. You did it!"

"Hah... Yes, somehow I did. You have been right a few times today—perhaps you should play the lottery. I know this is unusual for you."

"Do you insult everyone who tries to help you?"

"Would it soothe your ego if I said yes?"

"Hmm. Maybe."

"Yes, then."

"Glad it's not just me. Well, how is he settling in?"

"We have only been here for an hour, so it is hard to say."

"He went to sleep, so he can't be _too_ unhappy with the place."

"Hopefully not."

"How are you feeling? Any less overwhelmed?"

"I am… tired." This is punctuated by a deep yawn, and a laugh on the other end of the line tells Ziva that Tony heard it. "And maybe just a little less overwhelmed."

"A little is better than none. You'll get through tomorrow the same way you got through today: one hour at a time."

"Tomorrow will be harder, though."

"Why is that?"

Ziva sighs, not wanting to bring that particular heaviness into the conversation but unable to deny that she has an urge to talk about it. "Eitan… he does not know."

"He doesn't know what?"

"He has not been told that his parents are dead."

Tony lets out a rude word, and Ziva knows it wasn't directed at her. "So they expect _you_ to be the one to tell him?"

"Yes."

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair."

"You're right. Still…" There's a pause during which Ziva thinks Tony might be cursing under his breath again. "I'm sorry," he says finally.

"As much as I do not want to do it, there is no one else."

"Surely a social worker or something who's been trained to—"

"Eitan only speaks Hebrew, Tony."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Yeah."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I know I already said that, but I am."

"I will get through it— _we_ will get through it, Eitan and I. One word at a time."

"Hey, maybe you _do_ listen to some of the things I say."

"Once in a new moon."

"Blue moon."

"Whatever." Ziva yawns again.

"Ziva?"

"Yes?"

"Go to bed."

"Do not tell me what to do."

"Sorry, but just this once, I'm going to do just that. Go to bed."

It would be easier to argue with him if he wasn't right, and after a slight deliberation, Ziva sighs. "Alright. I will."

"Hope you sleep well. Good night, Ziva."

"Good night, Tony. Thanks for…"

"Don't mention it. I said you could call if you needed me."

"Yes, but thank you anyway."

"Happy to help. Okay, talk to you tomorrow."

"Talk to you tomorrow."

It's only fifteen minutes later, teeth brushed and pajamas donned and pillows fluffed, that Ziva realizes the strangeness of the end of that phone call. Both she and Tony assumed they'd be in contact the next day—despite the fact that Ziva won't be at work and they won't see each other. Really, as coworkers, they won't have a reason to talk again until her return to work in a week.

Why, then, does she fall asleep hoping that tomorrow ends in the same kind of silly phone call that tonight ended in?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here's chapter three; you can expect chapter four on November 12th. Happy reading, and as always, thanks for joining me on this journey! — xoxo, C

It's just past 0200 when something sharply pulls Ziva from her sleep, and she jolts awake, fingers fumbling for a weapon that isn't there anymore.

It only takes her half of a second to recall why her gun is not in its usual spot beneath her pillow; even as she remembers, though, she realizes what woke her up. There are soft noises of distress coming from elsewhere in the apartment, and Ziva recognizes the sounds for what they are: the whimperings of a child stuck in the horrors of a bad dream.

Eitan.

Sighing and rising from her bed, Ziva strides purposefully towards the small room that now belongs to Liora's son. He's probably fine, but she's concerned about him. _If there is one thing I can understand_ , she thinks with a small amount of bitterness, _it is the awful feeling of being trapped inside your own mind._

After all, she knows the confinement of a nightmare all too well... She has had more than her fair share of them over the years.

When she opens Eitan's door, she sees him curled tightly in on himself; he's against the wall, looking as though he is subconsciously trying to take up as little space as possible. He isn't exactly talking, but he's making nearly continuous soft sounds of discontent. His small features are twitching, too.

Unsure if she's handling this correctly but equally unsure of what else she can do, Ziva crosses the room to kneel by the bed. "Eitan," she calls gently, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

He shrugs away from her hand but doesn't wake.

"Eitan, open your eyes, please. It will all be alright, I promise, but you must wake up first."

The rhythm of his breathing seems to change—Ziva suspects that he's nearly conscious. "That is it," she murmurs soothingly. "Come now, open your eyes."

Finally, he does, and he blinks blearily at her. Unlike when he woke to find himself being moved to the bed a few hours ago, there's no recognition in his expression now... and his unease only seems to increase. He attempts to shy away, but there's nowhere to go.

Ziva keeps her distance for now.

"My name is Ziva," she reminds him, gentle. "You are staying with me for a little while. Do you remember that? We met yesterday."

Eitan doesn't answer, but he abruptly bursts into tears.

"Oh, little one," Ziva sighs sympathetically, her voice weighted down by borrowed grief, and she moves to sit on the bed next to him. "You really have not had an easy year, have you?"

Eitan still doesn't respond and he doesn't stop crying, but when Ziva holds out her hands to him, he slowly unfolds himself and climbs into her lap. Maybe he now remembers who she is; maybe he only needs some comfort. His sorrow feels a little too familiar, though, and Ziva is acting on instinct alone as she gathers him into her embrace and slowly rocks him back and forth.

It takes a while, but he calms some. Eventually, he speaks, too, mumbling a single cheerless word that Ziva can't make out.

"What did you say, Eitan?"

He repeats himself, but with his low and sleep-slurred, the word still isn't recognizable.

When he tries for the third time, Ziva finally deciphers what he's saying— _tchelet_ , the Hebrew term for the color light blue.

" _Tchelet_?" Ziva echoes, stymied. " _Tchelet_ what?"

Eitan only recites the word again, this time with more urgency and desolation. Ziva is entirely lost… at least until she sees his small hands opening and closing over and over again, aching to hold something that isn't there.

It's only then that she remembers an otherwise insignificant detail from earlier in the evening: the boy had been carrying a small blue stuffed bear when Zohara situated him in the back seat of Ziva's car. "Is _Tchelet_ the name of your bear?" she guesses.

"Yes!" the four-year-old manages to reply through his tears.

Well, that's _one_ mystery solved, but they still have a problem—the bear is almost certainly still in the back seat of Ziva's Mini Cooper.

She tries to explain this to the little boy in her lap, but it doesn't go over well. " _Tchelet_ is outside right now—can we wait until the morning to go out and get him?" The question is met with dismay, and Eitan's muted sobs start to escalate in the direction of full-blown wailing.

Ziva wavers momentarily—can he be left alone in her apartment for the five minutes it would take for her to rush down to the street and then return to him? Surely not... right? There are no truly _good_ options before her, though; she can hardly take him with her to the car. He'd undoubtedly wake the entire street, because he's getting louder every second.

It's so hard to think past the noise and her own rising sense of agitation.

"Shush, _bubeleh_ ," she pleads, rubbing his back as his small frame shakes with sobs; the pet name comes out automatically. "We will get your bear, I promise, but you must calm yourself first."

If Eitan hears her at all, he doesn't react to what she's saying.

Ziva decides that there's nothing to be done for it… she's just going to have to take him to the car with her. Mentally apologizing to the entire block, she scoops him up and advances to the entryway. There, she dons ballet flats that she can simply slide into since her hands are full, and she and Eitan hurry out the door.

By the time they reach the car, though, the little boy has worked himself into hysteria, and he's bawling so loudly that Ziva's ears have begun to throb. With difficulty, she unlocks and opens one of the car doors and attempts to free her hands by setting Eitan down in the nearest seat... but he refuses to detangle his fingers from where they grip her shirt, and at some point, she has to admit defeat.

The harrowing search that follows probably only lasts for half a minute, but it seems to go on for hours as Ziva's and Eitan's stress levels rise sharply. Then, at long last, the bear is unearthed from beneath the passenger seat… but success hardly seems to matter, because the damage is already done.

Ziva, well past the point of simply being careworn, is now in tears, too.

She's just… overwhelmed.

Feeling hopelessly inadequate, she re-locks the car and gracelessly carries Eitan back into the building—this time, there's no obliging neighbor around to help them through the front door, not now that it's 0215. Maybe that's for the best, however, because though Eitan has quieted, Ziva can't seem to rein in her own emotions.

No one should see her like this, frazzled and weepy and struck by a growing conviction that she just isn't cut out for parenthood.

That notion is reinforced by Eitan again refusing to let her go when she tries to return him to his bed, and she gives up completely, letting him win. It's just not worth the fight—and she doesn't have much fight left in her tonight, anyway.

Instead, she carries him to her own room, maintaining her hold on him as she flicks the lights off with her elbow and climbs under the quilt. She's exhausted, beaten down… tomorrow, she'll rally, but tonight, it's all she can do to snuggle Eitan against her chest as he falls asleep.

She's awake for a long time after he drifts off, though, wondering how the _hell_ she's going to take care of him indefinitely when half of a single night has almost completely demoralized her.

* * *

Ziva and Eitan both sleep in until late in the morning the next day—well, later the _same_ day, rather. They're both worn out after the intense, draining events of last night.

Once they're up for the day, Ziva begins to do something that she has rarely if ever done in her life—procrastinate.

She knows that she needs to tell Eitan about Liora and Noam, but how can she, when she feels so emotionally defeated? This is a task that will require great sensitivity and empathy, things that currently feel beyond her capabilities.

Instead, she focuses on following Eitan's daily routine and committing it to memory. After all, for the foreseeable future, most of it will need to become _her_ routine, too.

On his part, Eitan seems to have woken up in a much better mood than he was in last night before falling asleep, and he's fairly cheery as they go about their late morning and afternoon. Ziva cautiously starts a simple conversation, careful to avoid any too-emotional topics, and she discovers something rather quickly…

Eitan likes to _talk_.

Her first question is only about whether or not he likes to swim—it turns out that the answer is an emphatic yes—but he needs little more prompting or input from Ziva after that to carry the conversation single-handedly. After talking himself out on the subject of swimming, he moves on to speaking at length about the beach in general, then switches to sharing every fact he knows about the ocean and every creature therein, a thesis which melts into the telling of a story about a pod of dolphins he saw during a vacation to Eilat, which becomes a long treatise concerning every vacation he's ever been on…

It's endless.

Ziva listens with an astonishment that eventually turns to half-reluctant amusement.

She can see now that having Eitan underfoot will be like living with a miniature Tony. Will she ever be allowed a quiet moment to think again? Maybe not—not at work, and certainly not at home, it seems.

Still, Eitan's directionless chatter serves a purpose for Ziva, too: as long as he's filling the silence, she doesn't have to think too deeply about the conversation that they _should_ be having.

That changes, though, when Eitan suddenly pauses partway through a tale about camping with his parents in Mitzpe Ramon.

"What is it?" Ziva prompts, watching his mouth turn down into a solemn frown.

"I want to help _Abba_ put up a tent again."

Ziva sighs. "Eitan—"

"Maybe we can do it when I go home," Eitan thinks aloud, the idea making his expression brighten to some small extent.

If that's not a cue to start the conversation that Ziva has been dreading, she's not sure what is… leaving him with false hope would be cruel. He'll never help Noam set up a tent again.

"Eitan?" she starts hesitantly, interrupting whatever thought he'd been ready to carry on with.

"Mm?"

"Let us go sit down. We need to talk, okay?"

"Okay," Eitan agrees amicably. "I like to talk." He pulls out a chair at the dinner table—the amount of determined effort it takes him to move the heavy wooden seat makes Ziva half-smile, but she's too anxious about the task before her to be truly amused by it or by his comment.

She takes the seat next to him and looks at him seriously. "When your mother and father sent you to stay with Zohara, what did they tell you?" she asks softly.

"Um… they said…" Eitan trails off, his face scrunching up in concentration. "I do not remember much."

"It was many months ago, yes?" Ziva guesses, understanding the difficulty that he's having.

"I do not know. How long are months?"

At that, Ziva _does_ let out a breath of a laugh… he's so innocent, but he's also eager to learn. "A long time," she answers simply.

"Then… yes!"

"Alright." That makes her job easier, and harder—she isn't having to negate any promises that Liora or Noam might have made, but she'll have to struggle against whatever ideas of the future that Eitan's own small mind might have drawn up. "Well, it is time to discuss something that happened in the—"

"What is it?" Eitan interjects.

Ziva holds up a hand, asking him to pause with his questions. "I am getting to that—please give me just a moment. Before I explain, I need to make sure that you understand something, okay?"

"Okay."

Ziva nods and gives him a heavy, compassionate look that she doesn't have control over. "You must understand that your _ima_ and your _abba_ have always loved you very much, and you would not be here with me if they did not."

"I know! Zo tells me all the time. She says _Ima_ is going to be so excited to see me when I go home."

Ziva's anxiety spikes quite a bit in the face of his naive excitement, and she has to clear her throat in order to loosen a voice that has suddenly gone very tight. "That is something we need to talk about, too," she tells him once she can speak again. "You are not going home—at least not to the home that you remember."

"Why not? Are _Ima_ and _Abba_ coming here?"

"No, little one. They are not."

"Then what—" He stops talking when she takes his hand, and he appears to understand all at once that something injurious is coming. "Why not?" he questions, his voice more meek than it was before.

Ziva takes a deep breath to prepare herself, and she lets it out with a sigh. "Eitan, I am very, very sorry… but your _ima_ and _abba_ died yesterday. "

"What does that mean?"

"It means that they are…" Yet again, Ziva feels woefully unprepared for any of this, and she vacillates over how to explain. "They are gone," she finishes soberly, hoping that 'gone' is a concept simple enough to be understood.

It's not.

"Gone where?" Eitan presses, shaking his head in increasingly nervous confusion. He seems to be picking up on—and reflecting—Ziva's agitation.

"Gone from the world, _bubeleh_."

"When are they coming back for me?" Eitan pulls his hands out of Ziva's, frowning and looking more uncomfortable. "Your hand is all sweaty," he whines, scooting away from the table as best as he can in his hard-to-maneuver chair. He doesn't get far. "Why is it—Ziva, why is—"

Ziva can only watch helplessly as Eitan searches her face for answers to questions that he hasn't finished asking—and that she wouldn't know how to answer, even if he had.

Then he abruptly stops trying to get away, and he says something that breaks Ziva's heart.

"I want to go _home_ ," he begs, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. " _Please_ , can I go home?"

"You _cannot_ , little one," Ziva repeats, sorrow in her voice, "and I am so sorry for that."

"But…"

For the second time, all Ziva can think to do is open her arms in an offer of comfort, and for the second time, Eitan climbs into her embrace and holds on with every ounce of strength he possesses.

* * *

Things calm some after that, and within the hour, Eitan seems to have forgotten their heavy conversation altogether. Ziva's not sure what that means—but a Google search explains a few things she had wondered about, and she decides that the best thing to do for now is to simply return to the new-normal schedule.

After a quick dinner—and a not-so-quick bath, during which Ziva comes to understand just how difficult it is to control the behavior of a soapy and suddenly-devious preschooler—it's finally 'screen time'… a chance for them both to relax for at least a brief time.

She has just gotten Eitan settled in front of the television when the doorbell rings, and she instantly goes on the alert. She's not expecting any visitors, and she rarely receives any as it is. Knowing what she does about the possibility of a threat on Eitan's life…

She's not taking any chances.

"What are you doing, Ziva?" Eitan wants to know, watching her rather than the cartoons on the screen.

She hadn't realized he was looking at her, and she pauses, her fingers wrapping around the gun she was just pulling from a high cabinet. She puts it behind her back quickly and edges toward the door, answering in a quiet voice as she does so. "I was only looking for something, Eitan, do not worry. You can watch your show now."

"Who is at the door?"

"I am about to go check."

"Can I do it? If you hold me up, I can see through the little window! I have good eyes! Zo told me I do."

"I am sure that you do," Ziva agrees distractedly, hardly paying any attention to what she's saying as she focuses on finding out who has shown up unannounced, "but it is tv time now. Please finish what you are watching, okay?"

She doesn't wait to see if he listens before finally glancing through the peephole, holding her gun tightly in front of her now.

To her relief, there's a familiar face waiting out in the hall. Ziva heaves a deep sigh, trying to force the now clearly unnecessary adrenaline out of her system.

It's just Tony.

She unlocks the door and swings it open, frowning. "Tony!" she scolds immediately, making his greeting die in his throat and his eyes widen. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I was someone else, huh?"

"What makes you say that?" she queries, the question coming out more grumpily than she meant for it to. She doesn't know how she's going to survive being a foster parent when everything now feels so much like a potential threat to the small boy sitting peacefully in the room behind her.

"Because—" Tony discontinues his incredulous answer and snorts, gesturing to what she's holding. "Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?" he quips instead.

"In my— _what_?"

Ziva had already forgotten that she's still gripping her SIG, the possibility of needing to use it in the next few minutes having gone out the window as soon as she saw that her visitor was Tony. The striking urge to chastise him for scaring her had pushed it from her mind.

"A gun in your—you know, it's a play off of—" Seeing that Ziva still looks a little confused, Tony shakes his head and drops it. "Never mind. Are you doing alright?"

"I am fine," she assures him reflexively.

"Yeah?" he challenges, mild. "Then why'd you bring your side piece with you to answer the door?"

"Because you never know who might be behind it," Ziva answers darkly.

Tony frowns and opens his mouth to ask for elaboration—who would be after her today? He's interrupted, though, by a soft voice coming from somewhere around Ziva's waist.

"Ziva?"

Ziva looks down, surprised and still on-edge enough to be briefly startled—the television is set to a high enough volume that she hadn't heard Eitan approaching, but here he is. "Yes?" she acknowledges, tucking her gun into the back of her pants and covering it with her shirt so her young charge doesn't notice it.

She needn't worry, as it turns out, because Eitan isn't paying attention to her at all. He's peering shyly around her to stare at Tony. "Who is that?" he whispers.

Ziva glances briefly between Tony and the little boy, conflicted on how best to answer the question; she hadn't thought about it, because she hadn't expected that the two would ever meet. "He is… my friend."

"Is he nice?"

That makes Ziva laugh. 'Sometimes' is the answer that she wants to give, but it's far too soon to joke like that with Eitan, who may not understand that she's not being serious. "Yes," she assures him instead.

"Why is he here?"

"I do not know, little one. I was about to ask him."

Ziva glances back at Tony, who's watching with a combination of curiosity and niggling trepidation.

"Is that him? Eitan, I mean?" he asks, rather unnecessarily. Who else would it be?

"Yes."

"What did he just say to you?"

"He wants to know who you are and why you are here. And he has a good point… why _are_ you here, Tony?"

Tony's face brightens, the uncertainty of a moment ago evaporating. "You left something at your desk, and I thought I'd bring it for you in case you need it before you get back!"

Ziva narrows her eyes, suspicious. She smells a fish. "What did I leave?"

Tony cheerfully holds up her umbrella. "This."

Ziva makes a strangled noise as her torso jerks briefly, and she can tell that Tony unfortunately understands what she's doing—that is, trying (and mostly failing) to fight back a laugh. "Thank you," she says finally, her voice still ever-so-slightly unstable.

"Of course."

Ziva accepts the umbrella and reaches over to hang it on a hook by the door.

"Did it occur to you that I might have another at home?" she wonders offhandedly.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But you did not text or call to ask."

"Well, no, but—"

"And had you checked the weather, you would know that it is not supposed to rain for the next week, anyway."

"Oh, is that so?"

Finally, Ziva succumbs to the temptation to laugh and nudges Eitan backwards so she has enough room to open the door. "Please come in, Tony," she invites, tittering.

Tony steps over the threshold, but then he pauses nearby once Ziva shuts (and deadbolts) the door. It takes her just a moment to figure out what he is doing—he, much like Eitan, is orbiting her uncomfortably, uncertain of how to handle the sudden need to interact with a stranger. She's not sure the unease on _Tony's_ part is warranted, since a petit four-year-old is hardly a threat, but his slight fear of children is amusing enough that she feels compelled to indulge it regardless.

Still snorting, she offers her right hand to Eitan; he grabs hold of it immediately. Then, trying not to offend Tony by appearing _too_ tickled, Ziva repeats the gesture that she just extended to the little boy, offering a hand to the forty-one-year-old child, too. Tony gives her an odd look, but he still curls his fingers willingly enough around her own.

Ziva can't help thinking that if she has to mind _two_ youngsters, at least one of them is old enough to reliably dress and bathe himself.

She leads Tony and Eitan to the living room and releases her hold on them. Once she has a free hand, she grabs the remote control and switches off the tv, throwing the room into silence.

"Tony," she starts, an edge of jocosity lingering in her voice as she glances at her friend, "I would like for you to meet Eitan."

"Eitan," she continues, looking down at the little boy who seems somewhat nervous, "I would like for you to meet Tony." This is said in Hebrew for Eitan's benefit.

"Um, hi," Tony greets awkwardly, but then he winces and lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head. "I mean… um, _shalom_."

The hesitancy behind his use of the Hebrew word makes Ziva smile, and she gently rests her hand on Eitan's back. "What do you say to that, mm?"

" _Shalom_ ," Eitan replies, glancing away from Tony and back to Ziva for reassurance.

It surprises her how quickly Eitan seems to be adapting to the latest major change in his circumstances… he's already deferring to her as his caretaker. Ziva has not been nearly so expedient in adjusting to the situation herself.

She puts the thought aside and smiles, though; he deserves to be praised for his bravery in speaking. "That was very polite, so thank you for saying it. Now…"

Still looking at Eitan, Ziva tilts her head toward Tony and makes an exaggerated face of displeasure, earning a giggle from the four-year-old. "I need to talk to my very silly friend… would you like to get back to your cartoons while I do so?"

Eitan nods, though he still seems half-dubiously curious about Tony's presence, and Ziva turns the tv back on. The little boy gives each adult one more long stare before returning his attention to Looney Tunes.

Once she's sure Eitan is occupied, Ziva meets Tony's eye again, jerking her head toward the kitchen, and he nods and leads the way.

There, they lean against opposite countertops, a few feet of tiled floor between them. Ziva can see Tony visibly relax now that he isn't trying to figure out how to deal with a small child. Shaking her head, she gives him an amused, affectionate look. "What are you _really_ doing here, Tony?" she prompts, forgoing preamble. They're long past the need for any formality.

Tony shrugs. "I just… wanted to see how you are, I guess. I thought about you today."

"I do appreciate the concern," Ziva admits—it's strange, because generally, being worried over makes her feel frustratingly underestimated.

That's not how it seems today, though; there's nothing doubtful in Tony's expression at all. (Shecertainly has a doubt or two of her _own_ , however.)

"Well, how _are_ you, then?" Tony prompts, drawing her from her thoughts.

Ziva shrugs, too, and she wishes that she had a good answer for him—she can see her reflection in the glass of the microwave door behind his head, and she looks as out-of-sorts as she feels. "I do not know, really," she finally replies.

"Did you tell Eitan about…" Tony trails off, but it's clear what he's asking her.

"I did, yes."

"How did he take it?"

"It is difficult to say, I think." Ziva shrugs one more time and crosses her arms—it's hard not to answer everything right now with 'I do not know.' She peers into the living room, where Eitan is now fully re-engaged in his television program, and she watches him until she's done speaking. "He was upset during part of the conversation, though I believe he was only reacting to my own anxiety. He seems to be an empathetic child, from what I have observed… but I do not think he truly understands what I told him."

Tony makes an understanding face and nods; he doesn't seem shocked by her assessment. "Four is still pretty young," he notes. "Death is sort of… I don't know. An abstract concept, I guess?"

"I thought the same thing," Ziva agrees. "I did a search on Google and learned that we may very well be right... children around Eitan's age are only just starting to understand the idea of irreversibility. He knows that he cannot see his parents, but that alone would not have been enough to make him strongly emotional when I told him… he has not seen them in months as it is, so hearing that they are out of reach now is not surprising."

"Why hasn't he seen them? Where have they been?"

Oh, Ziva could just _kick_ herself when she realizes her mistake.

_Laazazel_.

She has become so used to talking to Tony that the clear-cut boundaries of what can and can't be shared are gone… and now she has forgotten to censor herself. As a consequence, she has no choice but to expand on yesterday's lie, though it goes against the grain to do so.

Ziva doesn't enjoy lying to Tony.

"His parents—my cousin and her husband, that is—had a difficult time fighting through the red vape," she invents, but she pauses as Tony sniggers.

"Red _tape_ ," he explains when she raises her eyebrows in question. "But anyway, go on."

Ziva makes a face. "They were forced to return to Israel for a time to sort the paperwork out," she concludes.

"I'm sure you know the struggles of immigration."

"I do."

"Mm. Why didn't they take Eitan with them, though?"

"He was only just beginning to settle into life here, and they did not want to uproot him twice more. They knew they would be back soon to join him."

"I guess that makes sense. Who did he stay with in the meantime?"

If the continuous stream of questions wasn't putting Ziva in an uncomfortable position, she might find the queries almost funny. Tony's endless curiosity—which often crosses the line into nosiness—is part of what makes him a good investigator. It's not helpful to her right now, though, and she wishes that he'd drop this train of thought and move on.

"An elderly family friend of my cousin's husband," she answers.

Tony nods knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye. "I'm picturing a Gibbs type. Am I close?"

The thought _does_ make Ziva chuckle, but she has to negate Tony's guess or risk him seeing through the backstory that she's fabricating as she goes.

"Not exactly," she disaffirms. "Gibbs is excellent with children—"

"—which still shocks me, because he's terrible with _people_ —" Tony mutters under his breath.

Ziva talks over him. "—and _he_ would have managed to care for Eitan indefinitely. Eitan's actual caretaker was already frail and in poor health, though, so I believe that news of what happened to Liora and Noam—my cousins—overwhelmed her. She would not have been able to keep him for much longer."

"Lucky the kid's got you as his family, then." Tony gives her another warm smile. "You're like a lioness or something—protective and dangerous. You wouldn't turn away a member of your pride that needed you… I bet you didn't even hesitate when your dad asked you to help."

"No, I _did_ hesitate," Ziva discloses; it's something of a confession. "I came close to saying no, actually."

"Eh, who could blame you?"

"Tony, you _just_ said—"

"You did the selfless thing in the end, didn't you?"

Ziva shrugs. "I suppose."

"Needing to think it through doesn't make you a bad person," Tony promises comfortingly.

Maybe he can see that she doesn't know how to respond to that, because he smiles and circles back to the topic they'd been pulled away from. "Anyway, so the kid still doesn't quite understand where his parents are—do you have a plan for what to do about that?"

Ziva shakes her head, glad they're done discussing yesterday's events for the time being.

"I do not know that there is anything to _be_ done. Eitan will learn with time, but for now, expecting too much of him is unreasonable and unfair. I will focus instead on getting him used living here."

"Sounds logical to me," Tony admires. "I don't know much about kids, but even _I_ know enough to see that you're doing a great job."

Ziva smiles back, but she has trouble concealing a vulnerable sense of instability. "I feel that I am not," she admits, "but I really have no frame of reference."

"Hey, neither do I. But… I mean, _look_ at him, Ziva."

Tony crosses most of the distance between them, and together, they peer around the corner to watch Eitan—he's laughing now, pressing a throw pillow against his face to stifle uproarious giggles at the sight of Bugs Bunny doing something ridiculous. Ziva feels Tony's hand landing on her shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. "He's doing just fine," he points out softly. "He'll survive this."

Ziva can only hope against hope that Tony is right, that Eitan's resilience will carry him through—and almost as if the idea has prompted an oft-ignored urge, the words to a familiar old blessing start to echo quietly in her ears… Unable to stop herself, she briefly closes her eyes and tunes Tony out.

She can't remember the last time she prayed, but she allows herself the comfort doing so now. It's a silent request for peace, and for succor—both for Eitan, who deserves none of the pain he still faces, and for her own ability to do what must be done...

No matter what _that_ turns out to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! Here's chapter 4; you can expect chapter 5 on November 19th. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! — xoxo, C

" _He's doing just fine," Tony points out softly. "He'll survive this."_

_Ziva can only hope against hope that he's right, that Eitan's resilience will carry him through—and almost as if the idea has prompted an oft-ignored urge, the words to a familiar old blessing start to echo quietly in her ears… Unable to stop herself, she briefly closes her eyes and tunes Tony out._

_She can't remember the last time she prayed, but she allows herself the comfort doing so now. It's a silent request for peace, and for succor—both for Eitan, who deserves none of the pain he still faces, and for her own ability to do what must be done..._

_No matter what_ that _turns out to be._

"Ziva?"

Ziva feels a hand lightly shaking her shoulder as she finishes her prayer, and she opens her eyes to find Tony watching her uncertainly. His hand falls away from her shoulder.

"You still with me?" he asks.

"Yes. Um—I am sorry, I was only…"

Tony shrugs when she trails off. "Don't worry about it. Did you hear what I said, though?"

Ziva shakes her head.

Fortunately, he doesn't seem to mind repeating himself. "Eitan is healthy, and he's as happy as he could possibly be—you know, under the circumstances. So I don't know what stressed-out place your mind just went to, but don't forget that you're doing a damn good job of making this work so far."

Ziva catches Tony's hand to squeeze his fingers, emboldened by his own gentle touch. "You are right," she decides. "Thank you, Tony. I needed to hear that."

"Hey, what am I here for?" Tony replies with a shrug and a half-smile; his eyes are kind, though, and they seem to say 'this is just what friends do.'

"Ah, the question of the hour," Ziva teases, briefly rubbing the pad of her thumb across Tony's knuckles before releasing his hand altogether.

He snorts. "This is the third time you've brought that up in, like, twenty minutes. Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I was not the one who brought it up this time!"

"Yeah, well, same difference. You were thinking it, I could tell."

"I was not."

"Were, too."

"Was not!"

They break into laughter at the same time.

"I am not trying to 'get rid of you,'" Ziva finally answers. "Not at all. Actually, it… means a lot to me that you came to check on us."

"Ah, well… I can't imagine what _I_ would do in your shoes," Tony explains self-deprecatingly. "The thought of it is enough to make me panic. Figured I should make sure _you_ weren't panicking, too."

"I do not _panic_ , Tony," Ziva shoots back haughtily, though she knows Tony can see that she's merely putting on a front.

"What do you do, then?"

"I…" Ziva pauses, considering, and then she brightens as she arrives at a reasonable explanation. "I think through every possibility, no matter how unlikely. And I think through them very quickly, which sometimes produces a physiological stress response."

Tony laughs again; this time, it's loud enough to draw Eitan's attention from the other room. He looks up to see them watching him, and he tilts his head, frowning. "What is funny?" he wants to know.

"Tony was amused by something I said."

"I did not want _you_ to answer, Ziva," Eitan argues, his miniature frown deepening. "I wanted _him_ to answer."

"My apologies," Ziva replies, fighting back a renewed grin at his annoyance; something about it makes him seem like a pint-sized Gibbs. "I did not know who you were talking to… but Tony, unfortunately, cannot answer you."

"Why not?"

"Because he does not speak the same language that you and I do."

"Why not?"

"Because he did not grow up in Israel."

"Why not?"

"Because he grew up in America."

"Why?"

Ziva laughs rather than answering. "You have many questions, do you not?"

Eitan's expression shifts at once, an impish grin appearing on his small face. "Maybe," he hedges.

"That makes two of you." Ziva turns back to Tony and switches to English once more. "He wanted to know why you were laughing, and then he wanted to know more about you in general."

Tony offers a tentative smile to Eitan, whose own little grin becomes much shyer. The two seem to like each other from a distance, even if they're not so sure what to do with one another up close.

"I have to admit, the curiosity is mutual," Tony assures Ziva when their eyes meet again. "Maybe you can teach me some Hebrew—then one day, he and I can chat."

"You _want_ to talk to him?" she remarks in surprise.

"I mean, yeah. If he's living with you—"

"Temporarily."

"— _temporarily_ ," Tony obediently amends with a disobedient roll of his eyes, "then I'm sure he and I will cross paths again every now and then. I can't really talk to him right now, and I don't want to have to just _ignore_ him the next time I see him. I don't want to be rude."

"'Not being rude' would be a first for you," Ziva counters dryly before she can stop herself.

Tony gives her a dirty look, and she gives up, chuckling.

"Okay, okay. Sure, I will teach you, but I do not think you will much enjoy learning."

"What makes you say that?"

"It would take months and months of concentration and effort—Hebrew is not an easy second language, I am told—and everyone knows that _you_ avoid work like the plague."

"You're so rude, Ziva," Tony complains without heat, poking her ribs and making her laugh. "Here I am, trying to be _nice_ , and you just—"

"Shush, Tony," she orders, grinning. "You win, okay? I hope Eitan will be on his way to a permanent home before there is time for you to learn much, but either way… well, who knows? It might actually be fun to teach you, no matter how long it takes."

"Again, _rude._ I'll have you know that _I_ am a quick study!" When Ziva gives him an insultingly doubtful look, Tony snorts. "Come on, try me," he bids. "How do I say something simple?"

"Like what?"

"Hm… how do I introduce myself?"

"That is easy enough, I suppose," Ziva accedes. "You would say ' _shmi_ Tony.'"

" _Shmi_ Tony," Tony repeats; his pronunciation is decent, certainly understandable.

"You said it well," Ziva grants, "but why are you saying it to me? _I_ already know your name." She's sure that Tony can see what she's doing by goading him, but chances are good that he'll take the bait anyway. "There is someone here that you have only been introduced _to_ ; you should go make your own introductions."

"Right now?"

"When else?"

"What if I mess it up?"

"He is four years old, Tony."

"So?"

" _So_ , he is hardly a linguist himself. The worst he can do is laugh at you, and I do not think he will even do _that_."

When Tony doesn't move, still looking wary, Ziva puts a hand on his back and shoves him lightly in the direction of the living room. She's not even trying anymore to hide her enjoyment at seeing him so off his game... really, this is just the kind of distraction that she and Eitan needed this evening.

Tony stumbles in the direction Ziva pushed him in and stops a few feet away from where Eitan sits. _Eitan's_ concern seems to have faded, but Tony is still distinctly wide-eyed, resembling a beer in the headlights. Maybe he needs another push.

"Do not just stand there staring at him, Tony!" Ziva hisses. "Say something!"

"Um…"

Eitan watches Tony, bemused. "What is he doing, Ziva?" he asks, sotto voce—as if _that_ would stop Tony hearing from no more than a meter away.

"He is trying to speak," Ziva elucidates.

"Why?"

"Because he would like to talk to you. Right, Tony?" Ziva adds the last sentence in English.

"Yes?" Tony answers uneasily, not sure what he's agreeing to.

" _Ken_ , Tony," Ziva corrects.

" _Ken_ ," he echoes.

"Good. Now, what _else_ did you just learn?" she presses.

"Right," Tony mutters to himself. Then he clears his throat and straightens up, finally spurred into action. " _Shalom_ , Eitan," he begins, his voice empty of all its usual confidence. "Um, _schmi_ Tony."

"I know _that_." Eitan is nonplussed. "Why are you saying it again? Ziva already told me your name. You should be a better listener," he scolds.

"Eitan, I think you can answer more politely than that, yes?" Ziva chides gently. "It took courage for Tony to introduce himself to you. You should answer nicely."

Eitan grimaces but dutifully acquiesces. " _Shmi_ Eitan," he tells Tony.

Tony grins at once, his eyes flickering between Ziva and Eitan. "I understood that!" he exclaims in English.

"Very nicely done," Ziva praises, chuckling.

"What'd he say at first?"

"He answered much the same as I did… something along the lines of 'I already know your name.'"

Tony laughs; his success in communicating seems to have put him in a charitable mood. "Dry humor may be a family trait," he suggests.

"Or simply an Israeli one," Ziva allows, smiling; she still doesn't like deliberately lying to her partner.

"Do you want to watch cartoons with me?" Eitan interjects, the question clearly directed at Tony.

"He asked you to join him for tv time," Ziva translates.

Tony hesitates for the briefest moment and then relaxes, appearing to reach a decision. "Can you tell him that I said 'okay'?"

_That_ surprises Ziva, and she raises her eyebrows doubtfully. "You are actually _willing_ to?" she probes.

"Sure."

"Why?"

"I mean, I won't lie, kids kind of scare me, but... Eitan won't bite if he's focused on Looney Tunes, right?"

Ziva snorts. "I suspect he will note bite either way. Really, though, you should not feel obligated to join him. He is _my_ responsibility, not yours."

"And I promised to help you out if I could," Tony counters. "Ziva, have you taken five minutes for yourself since you picked him up?"

"Yesterday, after he went to bed, I sat down with a glass of wine and—"

"And sipped it anxiously while resisting the urge to go check on him," Tony finishes for her. "Doesn't count."

Ziva can't really argue; it's why she had called him in the first place. "Then I suppose my answer is no."

"Alright, then… so let me take a quick shift, okay?" Tony coaxes. "I'll hang out with Eitan for a little while. You take half an hour to shower or do whatever else you might need to do to relax. I mean, you still look…"

"Be careful in how you finish that sentence," Ziva warns facetiously, but her stubborn resolve is loosening.

"You still look _tense_ ," Tony conciliates lightly, "that's all."

He's half-smiling—almost like it's a joke—but Ziva knows that he's only trying to put her at ease.

"Are you _sure_ about this, Tony?" she asks one more time, torn even in the face of his own decisiveness. While it _would_ be nice to have a brief respite from her nearly constant state of tension, and while she knows that Tony can be trusted, it's hard not to feel that she's unduly burdening him.

" _Yes_ ," Tony assures her firmly. "It's been a hard couple of days for you, so take a break. You've earned it. Eitan will be _fine_ … and so will I, hopefully."

That makes Ziva giggle when she wasn't expecting to, and she feels a deep surge of fondness for her friend. She knows that no matter how calm and pacifying his words are, he's offering something that makes him very nervous. It's that selflessness that pushes her over the edge into agreement.

"Okay," she finally surrenders. "But you will yell for me at once if there is trouble, yes?"

"Of course, but what's the worst that could happen?"

"Do not tempt fate by asking that question, Tony," Ziva suggests, her tone abruptly darkening.

"Whatever you say, Ziva," Tony replies rather than asking her to elaborate; he seems to know that she won't say more. "We'll be fine."

"Alright. In that case, you should go ahead and answer Eitan, then."

Tony gives her a look. "I'd love to, but _you_ never answered _me_ about what to say to him!"

"You do not need me to tell you, Tony. You already know how to give an affirmative answer in Hebrew."

"No, I d—oh. Yes, I do. I was thinking that I didn't know how to say 'sure', but I guess I know how to say 'yes.'"

"You do," Ziva concurs, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. "Here, I will see if Eitan is willing to repeat the question." She moves to crouch by the sofa and switches languages. "Eitan, do you remember what you asked Tony a moment ago?"

Eitan, who has long since lost interest in the adults' English conversation, looks away from the tv to meet her eye again. "Yes. Why?"

"Can you ask him again?"

" _Why_?"

"Because he is ready to answer you."

"Okay, I guess. Tony, do you want to watch Looney Tunes?"

Ziva indicates to Tony that he should answer, but the gesture is unnecessary—he heard his name, and he had been closely watching regardless, waiting for his cue. " _Ken_ ," he agrees.

Ziva can feel her smile growing, and she tries not to question the surge of positivity—why on earth should something this simple seem like such an accomplishment, or make her so happy?

Luckily, Tony is observing Eitan, not Ziva, so he doesn't see her strange burst of enthusiasm.

" _Tov_!" Eitan exclaims.

" _Tov_ ," Tony agrees.

Ziva moves out of her partner's way so he can settle on the sofa next to the 4-year-old; though he still looks tentative, Tony seems to feel bolstered by the fact that he and Eitan communicated with one another—however brief a conversation it might have been.

"You understood that?" Ziva prods, though she knows the answer.

"He said good!"

"And you said it back."

"I did." Tony gives her an affable look and elbows her hip gently—it's all he can reach from where he's sitting. "Now go on, Ziva."

"Okay, okay… I am going."

Tony has already turned back to the tv, though, when Ziva's hand lands on his shoulder, and she bends down to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. " _Toda raba_ , Tony," she murmurs into his ear, and then she straightens up and walks away without giving him a chance to react.

She knows that he understood what she said, _and_ that he understood how deeply she meant it…

_Thank you so much,_ she had whispered.

* * *

Following Tony's suggestion, Ziva uses this short period of repose to take a shower. She leaves the door open, listening for sounds of distress, but after a few minutes of relative quiet, she starts to let the hot water and its resultant steam tug her closer to a feeling of tranquility.

In yesterday's meeting with her father, she had considered the logistical possibilities of taking in a stranded child, but she hadn't considered how much it might tax her emotionally.

It has already started to do so, though, and it's only been twenty-four hours. She didn't anticipate the automatic and perhaps irreversible sense of worry and hyper awareness—every time she looks at Eitan, she thinks about how fragile he is. She's the only shield he has from a world that's often cruel and dangerous.

It seems, though, that at least for tonight, Ziva and Eitan have a shield of their own: Tony.

He'd really surprised Ziva by showing up when he did this evening, and he surprised her far more by essentially volunteering to 'babysit' for a few minutes. She has seen him around kids before, and she knows that he hasn't suddenly changed… he's just pushing past his own discomfort now out of concern for her own.

Oh, Tony likes to _pretend_ that he's selfish, that he's immature… but Ziva knows the truth.

* * *

When she gets back to the living room, her hair hanging damp and loose around her shoulders as ringlets start to form, she finds a scene that makes her feel very soft indeed.

Tony and Eitan are more or less where she left them, sitting side-by-side on her sofa. They've gravitated closer together, though, and they're chatting animatedly in a way that draws a chuckle out of Ziva… because she realizes almost immediately that they're having two entirely different conversations.

On the right, Tony is happily explaining the history of Looney Tunes' original run. "It started in 1930, see, but I gotta tell you something crazy—it was in black and white for more than ten years! Can you believe that? At first, they only had the technology to…"

On the left, Eitan is countering with a long and convoluted story that Ziva thinks might be about a time that he watched cartoons with Zohara. "She, um, she said it was too late, but it was not my bedtime! I know what eight looks like! I know the numbers! _And_ I said please, _so_ many times. Zo really likes when I say please. I said please three times, or four times, or five times, or..."

Of course, neither of them can comprehend what the other is talking about—they have no common tongue. That doesn't seem to matter, however; rather than monologuing, they're clearly speaking _to_ each other, using enthusiastic hand gestures and frequently glancing away from the television to make eye contact.

It's absolutely nonsensical, but it may also be the cutest thing Ziva has ever seen.

She watches for a while before finally interrupting, using a word that they'll both understand. " _Shalom_ ," she greets softly, and they both turn around to look at her.

Somehow, their smiles match.

Ziva addresses the little boy first. "Eitan, it is nearly bedtime now. Can you go find your pajamas from last night and put them on again?"

Eitan frowns, and he sticks his lower lip out, glancing between his new guardian and his new friend and back again. "But the show isn't over," he complains, "and Tony _just_ started watching it with me! I want to finish it."

"I know you do, but it is getting late. Please be a big boy and do what I have asked you to do."

The furrow in Eitan's brow only grows deeper, and he crosses his skinny little arms. "No."

"Eitan…" There's a warning in Ziva's tone, but Eitan doesn't heed it.

"No," he doubles down. "I do not want to."

Ziva suspects that this is a pivotal moment for them both; Eitan has not tested her until now, though Zohara had warned that he likely would before long… and since this is their first interaction of this kind, the way Ziva responds to him will set a precedent.

She wishes that it could be as easy to be firm and direct with strange children as it is to treat strange adults the same way.

"Sometimes," she tells Eitan, trying not to let any self-doubt into her voice, "we each have to do things that we wish we did not have to do. Now it is your turn to carry that burden."

Eitan opens his mouth to argue again, and Ziva holds up a finger, stopping him before he can start. "You have a choice here, yes? Either you willingly go now like I asked you to, or you can refuse and I will take you to your room myself. It is up to you—but if I must go with you, then I will ask Tony to show himself out while we are changing your clothes, and you will not get to say goodbye to him."

"Not fair," Eitan mutters, but despite looking mutinous, he gets to his feet.

Ziva feels an unanticipated surge of pride in the boy's decision, and she nods in approval. "You may return when you are dressed for bed," she says, her tone softening.

Eitan harrumphs, but he presents no further arguments before scampering out of the room.

Once he's gone, Ziva finally turns to Tony with a faint smile of apology. "I asked him to go put his pajamas on, but he did not want to stop watching cartoons with you," she explains, knowing that he will ask for a translation.

"Huh, really?" Tony looks pleased by that revelation, making Ziva laugh.

She moves to take Eitan's vacated spot on the sofa. "You made him argue with me," she chides, though her voice is light. "It is not something to be proud of."

"Hey, you can't blame me for feeling accomplished," Tony protests, grinning. "He likes me! I'm not sure a kid has _ever_ liked me before, not _really_."

Ziva feels a new surge of fondness—she's full of that tonight, it seems. "I am sure _that_ is not true, but… yes, he certainly seems to have enjoyed spending time with you while I showered. It is funny, though—Zohara said that he is slow to warm up to men, but he did not seem that way with _you_!"

"You're joking."

Ziva shakes her head.

"So not only does he _like_ me, but he likes me _especially_ … nice."

Tony looks so self-satisfied that Ziva has to giggle again, and once her laughter fades, she pats her partner's knee.

For reasons she can't discern, she feels compelled to scoot a few inches closer to him.

"He has good taste," she says warmly, and she can tell by the way Tony's eyes widen ever-so-slightly that her compliment has surprised him; she might have surprised herself some, too. "I am impressed, Tony. You really _have_ grown up, have you not?"

Tony's ears pinken, and despite his usual arrogance, he seems unsure of how to react to her clearly genuine praise. "Don't you go telling anyone," he mutters awkwardly, but there's a minute unconscious smile lifting his cheeks. "I have a reputation to protect."

"Your secret is safe with me."

"Knew I could count on you."

Ziva is about to answer when she hears her name. "Ziva!" Eitan calls from the next room. "Where is my shirt?"

"It should be with your pants, yes?" Ziva calls back, patient but slightly tickled.

"Oh, yeah…" Eitan replies faintly, and he falls silent.

Ziva looks back at her friend, her eyes still twinkling. "Tony?"

"Mhm?"

"You may already have plans for this weekend, but if you do not, you are welcome to join Eitan and I—I thought we might go out for ice cream on Saturday or Sunday afternoon."

A smirk turns up a corner of Tony's mouth. "Are you asking me out, Ziva David?"

"Actually, I changed my mind," Ziva backtracks at once, wrinkling her nose. "You are uninvited, and in fact, you can go home now, too."

Tony snickers, entirely unbothered by her dismissal. "McGee predicted this years ago, didn't he? Officer Lisa has been in love with Agent Tommy from the very beginning…"

Ziva's eyes narrow. "Eitan has had a hard week already, Tony," she reminds her partner shortly. "Do you really want him to have to watch me kill someone?"

"Oh, you think you could take me?" Before Ziva can respond to this challenge, they hear small footsteps moving in their direction, and Tony's taunting expression fades into one of general contentment. "If I'm free," he answers belatedly, "I'll go with you. Just let me know once you decide when you're going."

Eitan appears around the corner, now dressed in soft green dinosaur-patterned sleeping clothes.

"Cool pajamas, little man," Tony admires, seeming almost fully at ease with the kid now.

Ziva quickly translates her friend's words into Hebrew for Eitan, who beams. " _Toda_!"

"No problem." Tony offers his hand for a high five, and Eitan mimics the gesture enthusiastically.

"Eitan," Ziva stage-whispers, as if Tony would understand them regardless of volume, "do you want Tony to think you are _really_ neat?"

"Yeah!"

"I thought you might. He is about to have to leave, but if you say goodbye in _his_ language, I think he will be very impressed."

"How do I say it?"

"Good night." Ziva says it slowly and then encourages Eitan to try. He does, and he lights up when she praises his work. "Very nicely done. Now, do not be shy—go ahead and tell Tony, yes?"

"What if I say it wrong?"

Ziva has to bite back a grin—this is almost exactly the same conversation she had with Tony himself an hour ago. "The worst he can do is laugh at you, but I know that he will not. Be brave, yes? Try it out!"

Eitan nods, looking diffident, and takes Ziva's hand for reassurance. The simple gesture does something to soften whatever remnants of tension she still feels; he really _is_ a cute kid, and it's cheering to be the recipient of so much implicit trust.

"Tony?" the boy pipes up; the adults can practically hear his small heart thrumming.

"Mm?" Tony replies, his eyes twinkling. Ziva's sure he got the gist of the whispered conversation, even if all he understood was 'good night' at the end.

Eitan takes a deep breath and releases it in one great sigh. "Good night!" he exclaims in a rush; he seems afraid that he'll lose his nerve.

"That was _great_!" Tony celebrates at once. "Well done! Good night to you, too, Eitan."

Eitan is smart enough to understand the approval in Tony's voice, even if he can't understand most of the words, and he looks so proud of himself that Ziva can't see even a hint of the upset child she had dealt with in the wee hours of this morning.

She knows that difficulty will come again for him—and for her, too, because she'll have to comfort him—and she's aware that they're just going to have to weather the storms as they come. For now, though, she's glad that he's too young and innocent to understand and grieve his loss, she's glad for his unexpected new kinship with Tony...

And she is gladder for her _own_ friendship with Tony than she knows how to express, too.

She gets to her feet, quiet equanimity written across her face; it wasn't there before her friend showed up, that much is certain.

"Well, good night, Tony. Thank you for…" She's not sure how to finish the sentence, but he knows what she can't say anyway.

"Sure thing. Let me know about ice cream this weekend."

"I will."

They share one last long look—something undefined but almost _content_ passes between them—and then with a wave at Eitan, Tony disappears through the front door and he's gone.

* * *

An hour later, Tony's phone buzzes to alert him to an incoming text message, and he grins as he reads it.

[text from Ziva David]: _Eitan started rhyming our names once you left and did not stop until he fell asleep._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _How? Our names don't rhyme at all._

[text from Ziva David]: _Do not be stupid, Tony._

[text from Ziva David]: _He has one rhyme for your name and another rhyme for my name._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _What's mine?_

[text from Ziva David]: _Tony Avromi_

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _What's Avromi?_

[text from Ziva David]: _A diminutive form of Avrom._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _You seem to forget how little Hebrew I know. What's Avrom?_

[text from Ziva David]: _An alternate form of Abram._

[text from Ziva David]: _Abram is a given name._

The second text interrupts the reply Tony had been formulating to ask a now-obsolete question, and he deletes what he had already typed in favor of sending something else.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Ah, that's cute! Does having a Hebrew name make me an honorary Israeli?_

[text from Ziva David]: _Hm… perhaps. Are you prepared to serve in the honorary IDF?_

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _I think I'm probably too old for that._

[text from Ziva David]: _You are not getting any younger, it is true._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _And you're not getting any more tactful._

[text from Ziva David]: _Whatever you say, octogenarian._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _How is it that you don't know 'cat nap' but you know 'octogenarian'?_

[text from Ziva David]: _Superior intellect and the ability to prioritize?_

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _And a strong sense of humility, too, I see._

[text from Ziva David]: _I learned the benefit of having a large ego after years of observing you from across the aisle._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _You're welcome for the life lesson. Now, you got me off topic, so what's the rhyme for your name?_

[text from Ziva David]: _You are the one who changed the subject!_

Tony is still sniggering when a second text follows the first.

[text from Ziva David]: _Ziva Chaviva_

He rolls his eyes.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Ziva._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Don't make me keep asking._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Can you give me just a hint of context? Please?_

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Because_ _I. Do. Not. Speak. Hebrew._

[text from Ziva David]: _That much is certainly true._ _I enjoy watching you attempt it, though. :)_

Tony notes that she still isn't answering his question; he's pretty sure that the misdirects are intentional. She's just enjoying the act of stringing him along while he tries to get more information out of her.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Glad I can entertain you. You can teach me a new word or two next time I see you._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _But for now, I'm sure I'd butcher Chaviva if I tried, so how about you just spell it out for me?_

[text from Ziva David]: _A_

Tony's surprised laugh echoes through his empty apartment, and he shakes his head even as his fingers speed across his text keyboard.

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _The MEANING, Ziva. Spell out the MEANING._

[text from Ziva David]: _Oh._

[text from Ziva David]: _It is also a given name. It means 'beloved.'_

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Suits you… and_ _don't you see? Eitan must be a big fan of yours already._

[text from Ziva David]: _He is only making up silly phrases to entertain himself, but I am told that he trusts women easily... so you may be correct anyway._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _Lol, I am screenshotting that so I have it later. Ziva David admitted that I'm right! Gonna show McGoo tomorrow._

[text from Ziva David]: _I said MAY._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _;)_

[text from Ziva David]: _Stop that, Tony._

[text from Tony DiNozzo]: _;) ;) ;) ;)_

* * *

Ziva never replies to Tony's last text. Worn out from her second long day in a row, she falls asleep instead, her phone still in her hand and the shadow of a smile still on her lips.


End file.
